


heartache

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 03:32:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12645270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: “Mike.” Elle’s voice is still soft, but it has a little more weight to it, telling him to listen. “You didn’t know.”“It’s just, I wish I did, Elle. You’ve got Hopper. You went out on your own, and met so many people, and learned so many new things about the world. What if you know everything I know? What if I’m not special to you anymore?”





	heartache

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for season two if you haven't finished, just fyi!
> 
> (didn't know it was spelled 'el' till i was nearly done, call it a headcanon and roll with me, okay?)

Mike is used to the basement being drafty in winter, the way the windows seem to shake and whistle with the wind.

It's mid-November, with snow falling on Hawkins a little earlier than expected last night. But it's not the kind that'll stick, and Mike doesn't feel that cold right now; Eleven’s shoulder is pressed up against his as they sit together in the tablecloth fort. The warmth that passes through her flannel, to his sweater and his skin beneath, fills his chest. It's not hot, like a fire, not too stuffy or uncomfortable, like falling asleep with your socks on. It's like taking a sip of hot cocoa, right when you've come in from the cold. 

She closed the gate a week ago, but they haven't had time to catch up since.

“So your mom named you Jane,” Mike says, finding a place in Eleven’s story that's less like her staccato way of speech, and more like a pause. “Do you want me to call you Jane?”

“Maybe...Dustin. Will, Lucas. But for Mike,” Eleven’s voice softens a little, pointing at herself. “Elle.”

“Yeah,” Mike glances down, mumbling, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “I like calling you Elle, too.”

Elle smiles; Mike can’t help smiling back. Her pinky twines with his index finger, inching towards holding hands, not in a rush to get there. She picks up her story again, and while her words aren’t the most descriptive, he has to admit that her voice flows a little easier now. It comes with a pang in his chest, the thought that Elle is becoming more and more normal. Not that he wants Elle to be different, not that any bully would dare touch her if she started coming to school. But he doesn’t want her to be _normal_ , either.

The images in her story still shine through, especially Chicago--he remembers visiting with his family a few years ago, right before Holly was born, skyscrapers dwarfing the tallest trees that lined Mirkwood back home. Dad, despite his interest in the Cubs, taking them to a Sox game because they deserved to see “good baseball” that summer. He forgets about his nerves and however clammy his hands might feel when Elle talks about her sister, and the home invasion, and the vision of Brenner she put in Elle’s mind, and locks their fingers together, squeezing her hand when her eyes go glassy with tears.

“Elle...I’m so sorry.”

“Mike,” Elle’s brows furrow a little, causing a tear to roll down her cheek. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s--” Mike sighs a little, slowly fitting his words together while Elle stares at him, waiting for his answer. “Sometimes people say sorry when they’re sad and don’t know what else to say.”

Elle takes a second, then seems to understand, the curls of her hair bouncing with a nod.

“Do. Do you think you’ll try finding your sister again someday?” 

Mike watches the trembling uncertainty on Elle’s face, a distant, yet familiar memory from when he lashed out at her last year, the shake of her head, quivering lips, something like fear in her eyes.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, his voice feeling too loud in his mouth. “When Will got better last year, the counselor at school told us that he might not want to talk about it, and if he did, it might not be easy. If you don’t know, or don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

“I don’t know,” Elle sniffs. “But she’s different from Papa. I hope she’s safe.”

Mike nods. Getting angry at Elle’s sister feels a little like getting angry at Hopper for hiding Elle away, except he’s not quite sure where to place it. It’s tension in his shoulderblades, dancing along the little hairs on his skin.

“Mike?”

Mike lets go of Elle’s hand and starts to fold in on himself, stuffing his hands under his armpits, his leg jiggling restlessly, even though he isn’t cold. He narrows his eyes, glaring across the room at nothing in particular.

“She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

Elle swallows, her eyes rimmed with red, and places her palms, one on top of the other, over her heart.

“Here.”

The sob comes out of Mike without hesitation. His eyelids squeeze shut, but that only seems to make the tears burn, streaming down his cheeks, his body shaking. He wants to cry and scream until his throat is raw, and it feels like his body will do it without him needing to even think about it, pounding the floor with a fist. The only thing that quiets him is Elle’s voice, calmly repeating his name until his sobs turn to whimpers, her hand resting on top of his.

“I wish I wasn’t this weak,” Mike’s voice breaks, wiping at his nose with his sweater cuff. “I wish I could’ve helped you.”

“Mike.” Elle’s voice is still soft, but it has a little more weight to it, telling him to listen. “You didn’t know.”

“It’s just, I wish I did, Elle. You’ve got Hopper. You went out on your own, and met so many people, and learned so many new things about the world. What if you know everything I know? What if I’m not special to you anymore?”

“Mike,” Elle repeats his name, smiling a little. “You are special.”

Mike exhales a shaky breath.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Mike is quiet for a few seconds longer.

“...Are you’re not just saying that?”

“I’m _not_ ,” Elle insists with a patient, mild exasperation, still smiling at him. It’s not that Mike doesn’t believe her--not that he didn’t believe her from the start--but it helps to hear it twice, to fill in the cracks in his confidence, the unimpressive self he had to face in the mirror when Elle was gone.

They both go quiet this time, to reflect, to pull themselves back together; Elle, nearly back to the point in her story when she came back to Hawkins, and Mike, letting the tide of his more inquisitive thoughts slow. Elle looks across the room, at the table, the map where Mike and his friends would keep track of their campaigns.

“D and D?” Elle asks, frowning at the empty tabletop.

“We didn’t have much time to play before, with school and all,” Mike explains, but he lights up shortly after. “Maybe we can put a campaign together during Christmas break, so you can finally play with us! You know what Christmas is, right?” Elle nods. 

“Commercials.”

“Do you know what you want?”

Mike watches as Elle’s cheeks go a little pink.

“Dresses. Pretty.” Mike blinks.

“Oh. Yeah. I don’t usually like getting clothes, but that’s cool. Mom made me sell a bunch of toys at the yard sale, but it’d be cool if she got me some Transformers or GI Joes.”

“Cool,” repeats Elle.

“Thanksgiving is closer,” Mike starts, watching confusion blossom on Elle’s face. “I can explain the history later, but it’s when people get together with their families for a huge dinner, and Christmas break won’t be as busy. Lucas will probably want to invite Max, too.”

Elle nods, looking a little guilty.

“Sorry. About Max.”

“What for?”

“Skateboard.”

“That’s okay,” Mike shrugs. “I didn’t like that much at first, either. But she’s alright.”

“...I wish I could’ve seen you, that day,” Mike swears in his mind, watching Elle’s frown grow. “But you’re here now, so it’s okay!” 

Elle sits, mulling over his words. Her expression slowly changes course, back to a smile. 

“Together.”

“Yeah,” Mike smiles back. “Together.”


End file.
